


Wind Sweeps You Off Your Feet: Jericho's Lament

by JJBashir



Series: Wind Sweeps You Off Your Feet [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE/F, World Championship Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, There's A Lot of Unresolved OK?, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 14:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10164680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJBashir/pseuds/JJBashir
Summary: When Drops of Jupiter started coming out, things quickly got out of hand, and there had to be a way to fill in all the blanks without writing one HUGE mega story. So the best way to do that was to create first person commentaries between sections of the big story. These little commentaries are meant to be dropped in at certain points from our three protagonist's POV, to help clarify the action going on 'off-page' as it were.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When Drops of Jupiter started coming out, things quickly got out of hand, and there had to be a way to fill in all the blanks without writing one HUGE mega story. So the best way to do that was to create first person commentaries between sections of the big story. These little commentaries are meant to be dropped in at certain points from our three protagonist's POV, to help clarify the action going on 'off-page' as it were.

_And tell me did the wind sweep you off of your feet_  
_Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day?_  
_And head back to the Milky Way_  
_\--Train, Drops Of Jupiter_

 

Jesus, why do I do this to myself?

 

I should start at a semblance of a beginning. My name's Chris, Chris Irvine, but you know me better as Chris Jericho, Y2J, formerly of the World Wrestling Federation, but currently employed by World Champion Wrestling, (an AFFILIATE of WWFE Inc, mind you...it's a swerve, y'see...we just keep up the rivalry for the marks.) the Ayatollah of Rock and Roll-a, the Y2J Problem, blah blah blah.

I love wrestling. Wrestling is my life, and I'm in the premiere arena for my 'sport', which is two parts skill, three parts showmanship and a WHOLE lot of luck. I'm good at what I do, I have the adoration of thousands of people around the world...even held a belt or three in my day.

So what's my damage, you ask?

She's about five foot six, weights 130 on a great day, 135 on a FABULOUS day (cause, y'know, I kinda like girls with real curves and not those anemic looking twigs with the Pump-o-cleavage pouches in their chests), has these funky hazel eyes that remind me of a mood ring (gold when she's happy, brown when she's sad, green when she's pissed as HELL...), can drop kick six foot seven, 280 pound behemoths without so much as breaking a nail or having a hair drop from its perfectly coiffed bun (pretty impressive, huh? You should see her swing a kendo stick. God, be still my heart.)

And she's in LOVE---with my boss. My rich, born-with-a-silver-spoon-the-size-of-Texas, heir-apparent-to-Vince-McMahon, Armani-suit-wearing, snot-nose, arrogant-bastard, gets-everything-and-anything-he-wants, boss.

 

Oh, yeah...and on top of ALL of that, the fucker can wrestle, too.

 

Everything I worked my ASS off for, Shane McMahon had handed to him on a silver platter with the WWF logo engraved on it. Don't get me wrong...Shane O'Mac worked plenty hard for what he's got, too...it was just he didn't HAVE to, y'see.

Where was I...oh, yeah. Josie. That's her name. Josephine Theresa Donnelly. Or, as I like to tease her, Miss D. To be honest, I used to think she was a bit of a tight-ass. That's why I started calling her that.

Oh, we all thought the same thing when we first met her. 'Shane's gone and got himself a hot 'personal executive assistant'. I wonder how much 'personal' is involved with that?' Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more.

But when we ever had to go see Shane in his office, we ALL shook in our boots...me especially. Don't tell anyone this, okay, but I had this teacher back in Winnipeg that looked JUST like Josie does. And she was every bit the hard ass Josie is. Oh, Miss Caven scared the shit outta me. And when she said 'MISTER Irvine', I would be on the verge of peeing my pants.

So there I am, sitting Shane's outer office for the first time with Miss Caven re-incarnated standing guard and when she says "MISTER Irvine, Mister McMahon will see you now," I swear to God, Jesus and Bret Hart, I jumped a mile. Scared me, scared her...though she didn't show it. But after that first meeting with Shane, when I walked back into the office she looked like a woman who filed a bit of useful information away in her head.

 

I knew THEN I was fucked. I just didn't realize how much.

 

EVERY chance she got she tormented me. It could be a call on my cell phone.or a call from the front production office in the arena to the back. If it was my cell phone, I was Mister Irvine. But then, then the sneaky bitch, she started in with Mister JERICHO. Come on now...as Y2J, I was fucking arrogant...invincible. I was the Lion Tamer, the one with the kick ass submission hold and the theme music to boot. I had practically every woman in arenas all over North America creaming their pants...and not a few of the guys too. Was I really THAT scared of a mousy little secretary?

 

To quote Stone Cold...give me a big 'Hell yeah'.

 

That little girl could set me shivering in my boots like a sacrificial virgin. And not only did she know it?

 

She LIKED it.

 

Needless to say, only after taking shit from some of the other guys...ESPECIALLY the Hardys, who made the jump back to WCW with me...did I decide my revenge. She had been accompanying Shane-O to most of the big tapings and one night as we getting ready to leave for the hotel, she snuck up behind me. Or at least she tried to. Jeff snickered and it clued me in. I was ready for that little hellcat.

"Mister Jericho (remember...Irvine in private, Jericho in public), Mister McMahon needs to see you right away. A storyline meeting."

I smirked. "Of course. Lead on, Miss D."

She came to a dead stop. I practically stepped on her.

"WHAT did you just call me?" I heard the outrage in her voice. How dare ME, a lowly wrestler, get familiar with HER, the boss's 'personal executive assistant'?

I snapped my fingers repeatedly. "Come on, Miss D. Not nice to keep the Boy Wonder waiting." I stepped past her with a bounce in my step and a smirk on my face the size of Alberta.

Oh...it was war after that. War on Jericho.

For MONTHS.

It was wonderful. She NEVER, EVER took my shit lying down. She would brush off that aristocratic attitude (I found out later on she learned that in Harvard...see, she's smart), and give me what for like the hellcat I knew her for.

After a while, I started to look forward to our battles. Remember junior high? Yeah, I know it sucked, but remember that one person that you really REALLY liked, but you were too cool to admit it, so you would just mess with them instead? That was me and Miss D. I loved to get under her skin, and I loved her telling me what an uncouth, ill-bred degenerate I was. Hell, ol' Shaner even tried to work our little feud into my storyline.

 

That's when I found out she just wasn't a bitch on wheels for yours truly.

 

You would have thought Shane was SIX that way she ripped into him. She didn't yell, she didn't scream, but that meeting was when I found out that the Mister Crap was for real with her. Every time she said 'Mister McMahon', I kept looking for Vince to come out of the corner.

 

The OTHER thing I learned was the boss had it BAD for Little Miss D. He calls her Jo. At the time, she called him mince-meat.

 

Soon, I started noticing the looks Shane would throw her way. I've seen Shane in action with the ladies. They love his clean Greenwich boy looks and, of course, all that money. But, I had NEVER see that kind of look in Shane O'Mac's eyes before. Take adoration, multiply it by 10, then add big, brown cocker spaniel eyes to it. Arf, Arf. Shane was hooked...and she was completely oblivious.

Or so everyone else thought.

I knew better.

 

Y'see, I'd done my OWN observation of the indomitable Miss Donnelly. And if Shane was puppy dog lost, then Miss D was Scarlett O'Hara in distress. I watched her watch him. I started adding two and two, and when I kept getting six, I knew that hard ass Miss D was such a hard ass cause there was something she wanted, and she thought she couldn't have it.

I could have been a nice guy. But remember, I was out for revenge. I kind of liked knowing secretly, while everyone complained what a bitch she was, that I had info on Miss Original Hard-Ass herself.

Then came SummerSlam.


	2. Chapter 2

Yeah, yeah. SummerSlam's a WWF thing and I don't technically work for them anymore. But this was a special event, built up on the InVasion angle we were working. WWF and ECW guys were crossing over to beat up on WCW guys and gals who had made the jump with Shane. Part of it was story but for some people, it was legit. Some of those beatings were for the marks. At least three of mine weren't, I'll tell you that. And Shane...God. Shane got the crap kicked out of him. A LOT. Some of us, Me, Jeffy and Matt especially sort of appointed ourselves Shane's unofficial bodyguards.along with Miss D, of course. She hated leaving him alone for two seconds. One minute, she be taking care of something, next minute, Shane would be on the floor somewhere with his clock cleaned for him.

Give the lady credit. She would never do the girly thing that other women would do.wring the hands, say 'Oh NO' and rush around and flap. She would check to see if he was OK, get the medics if he was in REALLY bad shape, and take over for him until he could deal with things again.

 

No wonder the guy was in love with her. Could ya blame him?

 

But SummerSlam...SummerSlam was BRUTAL. Vince had been talking smack to Shane since before Wrestlemania in April. Shane had whipped ol' Vince's ass ONCE already. He was starting to whip Vince's ass in the ratings and with Vince's help, no less. Sympathy for US went up as the WWF were seen as sore losers. (Hey, I know how to read the Nielsens too, kids). And if there is anything that gets the old man's goat way up, it's being beat. Being beat by his own kid? Yeah, it was all the same business in technical terms but Vince doesn't get beat by anyone anywhere. Especially not by his kid.

The Main event was yet ANOTHER Shane-Vince Street match. Stephie was (yet another uptight broad whose skin is SO fun to get under and I promise you all the heat between us? That is all legit.) banned from ringside. Shane was pissed as hell at the old man for trying to sabotage WCW, and challenged him to fight-if Shane won, Vince would crack down on the ambushes from his side. If Vince won, then the beatings would continue until morale was crushed to garbage, and Shane would have to go at it with Pops in a Lumberjack Rubber match at the next WCW ppv. It was ratings gravy all the way around.

 

Nobody...and I mean NOBODY...had any idea that everything was going to go to tits up.

 

My match went pretty well. Chris Benoit and I went at it one more time...he's a great wrestler and for all our 'rivalry', we're actually pretty good friends (OK he’s been my best friend and travel buddy for years especially in Japan but do not tell him that, I'll never live it down). I won, but Chris cleaned my clock afterwards.

I was just into street clothes when Lita (yeah...we all know her name is Amy and NOBODY calls her by it) came flying up, screaming for me to get my ass to the ring.

"What gives--"

"It's Triple H! He's beating the hell out of Shane...it's LEGIT, Chris!"

I won't try to describe the shiver that ran down my back---or the look of fear in Lita's face. One of the reasons her and the Hardys jumped ship was because of how violent Triple H had become during the feud. The other was that word.

 

Legit.

 

A lot of what we do is choreographed and improvised based on a hell of a lot of training and communication. But sometimes, it goes for real. 'Legit' is what we call it in the business. 'Legit' is dangerous. Nobody can predict what happens when it's 'legit'. There's all kinds of reasons it goes 'legit'. Maybe you cut a promo that hit too close to home, maybe it's because you botched a move and someone got hurt, maybe it's just the wrong day on the wrong week and a move you've done a thousand times before or something you've said and always meant in jest gets taken a little too seriously. When heat goes 'legit'--that's a walking timebomb. Careers can end when it's 'legit'.

As good as Shane is--he gives up about five inches and about sixty or seventy pounds to Triple H. Hunter's been taking this whole 'feud' too seriously for too long. He's a freaking bodybuilder. His muscles have muscles. And if he's going 'legit'--there's almost no stopping him. That's a six year old trying to stop a moving train. It's not happening.

I must have done a what felt like a gold medal fast dash to get to the runway, bumping and shoving people in my hurry and I wasn't the only one doing it either. What we saw when we got to the top of the ramp...what we all saw...stopped us dead in our tracks for a few seconds longer than it should have. It was that 'what the fuck am I looking at right now' moment you really do not want to have.

Shane was lying there, blood pouring from his head, curled up in a little ball. Triple H is hovering over him with that goddamned sledgehammer in his hands. And Miss D. OUR Miss D. Out little Miss D with a kendo stick in her hand coming up behind Hunter and swinging like she knows what she's doing with it.

Alarm number one went off in my head. If Shane is giving up five inches and sixty pounds...Miss D gives up what? A full FOOT? OVER one hundred pounds?

Hunter was gonna squash her like a bug.

Alarm number two: I didn't exactly WANT to see Miss D get squashed like a bug. God help me.I liked the little brat. OK, so I liked to ANNOY her, but the same thing, right? Besides, I admired her. She worked hard. Even if she kept us at a distance, she tried to get Shane to do right by us...and SUCCEEDED, I may add.

Then something happened that shocked me to my very soul.

I heard Shane-O's entrance theme come up.  
I saw Trips pause and turn to sneer at her.  
She Chuck Norris-ed him in the nuts.  
Then she whacked him over the head with the kendo stick.

 

Then proceeded in her typical Miss Donnelly methodical-ness, to dismantle the Game right down to his shiny black boots.

 

OK, she took a few licks. Correction; she took a HELL of a lot of licks. Most of us made it down to the ring to try--operative word--TRY--keep Hunter down. But Old Hunner was pretty pissed that he'd just been taken down by a slip of a chick.

Didn't stop her one bit. She was tending to Shane at the moment. I yelled, tried to get her attention. But it was too late. Hunter had her by the hair, then the neck. I jumped to the ring apron. I was NOT going to let that ape kill my boss's secretary.

And while she's hanging there, her feet six or seven inches off the ground, probably on the verge of blacking out from lack of oxygen, SHE KICKS HIM IN THE FACE. She just swings her leg around and whacks him one. Then again and one more time until he lets her go. She shakes her head, straddled him and clocks him out cold. Just like that. Then, back to Shane she goes. I can hear her, telling him it will be OK, that she's here, that she won't leave him. I can barely hear him. He's not in great shape. The medics come, the rush him to the hospital and off she goes with him.

And all I can think is, "I think I'm in love.'

Granted, not the most appropriate thing in the world, but I'd never seen anything that.beautiful in my whole life. She was Fury personified. She was Athena, Goddess of War and Wisdom, beating down impotent Ares on his turf.

I was a little emotional, what do you want from me?

As I drove to the hospital where they brought Shane, my thought went back to normal things.is Shane OK? Did somebody call his mom? WHAT the hell was Vince thinking? What AM I gonna do to Trips when I get my hands on him...those kinds of things.

Most of the locker room, WCW, ECW and WWF alike, hung out in the ER waiting room. We all needed to know if Shane was OK. We never dreamed it would ever go this far. WCW? We wanted blood. Shane, arrogant prick that he was and is, was good to us. What the hell was Hunter's problem ANYWAY? That was his almost brother-in-law he nearly killed out there. (In case you're wondering, the fact that Steph and Hunter are an actual 'thing' is probably the second worst kept secret in wrestling history)

For some crazy reason, I got appointed den mother to this crazy lot. Maybe because we all knew it would drive a certain hazel-eyed blonde bonkers.

"Where is Miss D anyways?" I asked.

She was upstairs with Shane, outside of the surgery theater. On Shane's orders, so the story went. Suddenly, my heart went out to the girl. I mean, what a day for HER. Sees the guy she's nuts about get beat to within an inch of his life. Gets the crap beat out of her for trying to help him out. I start thinking. I'm good at thinking. I'm good at mixing it up. It's why I am a good wrestler.

Linda comes finally. She sees us all there, sitting vigil, and smiles that Linda smile. She's the sweetest lady I know. She reminds me of my mom. She spied me, comes up to me and squeezes my arm. "Any news?" she asked.

I tell her what I know: Shane is in surgery to repair the damage to his left lung. As soon as they have some more, they'll give it, I say. Matt gets Lita (Lita worships Linda), tells her to get Linda some coffee, sit and catch up for a while. Maybe try and take the poor lady's mind off her son's condition for a moment or two.

Then SHE comes into the room.

She looks like HELL.

She's using the wall for support. She's holding her stomach. I wince, 'cause I know what it is she's REALLY holding. Pairs 11 and 12 of ribs. Cracked, most likely, if not outright busted. She's got a bloody bandage in her hand. Her cheek is sliced open (probably from the impact of that freaking ring Trips wears), and still oozing blood

Question one, of course, was why the hell we weren't all at work. We all chuckled. Then she said, in her quiet voice of hers that, "Mister Mc--SHANE. Shane is going to be just fine."

We breathed. We all breathed. Just the way she said it, turned a corner for all over us. Pretty soon we crowded her, not just because we wanted news but also because we wanted to show HER that we were proud of her. She did something that none of us big bad wrestling types would have dared do.

 

And I may have been the only person who knew why.

 

Then came the question I have been pondering in my mind for months now.

 

Pondering why the HELL I answered the way I did.

 

"Chris, will you see that Miss Donnelly gets checked out by the doctor?"

 

OH, I should have run. I should have run screaming from the room. I should have NEVER answered the way I did:

"It would be my supreme pleasure, Mrs. McMahon. C'mon, giant killer. Let's get you patched up before the boss wakes up."

"You will pay for that, Mister Jericho."

"Promises, promises, sweetheart."

 

So there we were, sitting in the exam room with her, with her worry and fear and love all nagging away at her. And me. So I asked if she was all right.

"Jericho, I'm fine, leave me alone," she snarled. YES...she snarls. She gives any one of the guys a run for their money and it was Miss Caven in third grade all over again, but this time, I stood my ground.

"Look, sweetheart, Mrs. McMahon gave me explicit instructions that you're supposed get the once over by the doc, and that's what I'm gonna make sure happens." I leaned against the table and added (just to piss her off, mind you) "Is it so awful, to be stuck in a room with the Ayatollah of Rock and Roll-a?"

Miss Caven glared.

"OK...let's rephrase that, shall we?" I backpedaled. I saw how good she was with martial arts.I didn't want an ass whipping of my own.

Then she did three things that floored me.  
1: she sighed.  
2: "I'm worried about Shane."  
3\. "...Chris. That's all."

What little I though I knew about this woman shattered in a million pieces right in that moment. Yeah, I knew her name was Josephine, and the most people called her either Miss Donnelly or Josie, except Shane, who called her Jo. She was the most feminine thing I'd ever seen. She wore PINK. What woman wears pink to WORK in this day and age? She went to Harvard, she drove a '99 Civic, she almost never wore high heels. But, what did I know about her...really? Did I ever really want to know before?

The LAST thing I needed to do was to point out the three bombshells. I'd never get her to talk that way. "We're all worried about him, babe," I said. "But, we gotta worry about you right now. Triple H laid you out pretty hard." He reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Who the hell else is gonna keep the boss in line if we lose you?"

She smiled. "If nothing else, Chris, you're great for a laugh."

 

If I were to say I felt like I had died and gone to heaven, that would be TOO cliché, right? Thought so.

 

Damned if I didn't blush anyway. "I'd like to be more than that. A good laugh, I mean." And she gave me this weird little look, so I figured, what the hell: "I'd like to be your friend, Josie."

Holy shit. Did I just say that? The hell I did. But I meant it. I did. The girl needed a friend. After she had just been through, she deserved a friend.

Josie looked down at her feet for a while. "I'd--I think I'd like that. Chris." She sniffled.

It was kind of heartbreaking how little and young she looked right then. I don't think I had never seen anyone look so vulnerable...ok, OK, I know, kill the fucking clichés.

 

Look, it's my story, shut the hell up and let me tell it, OK?

 

The one thing I never imagined would happen, happened. Me and Miss D...called a truce. A permanent one.

 

So since we were being friends now and all that, I looked at her and asked, "You wanna tell be why the hell you nearly got yourself killed today?"

"Irvine, what are you talking about?" I knew I got under her skin, but in a different way than before. No 'Mister'. There was hope yet. Hope and a little panic in that voice.

"You could have gotten Matt or Jeff or Hugh or any of the other guys," I pointed out. "Hell, the security team, the refs, ANYONE else. But no--Miss Donnelly has to run in and face the big bad wolf all by her lonesome."

"Because I can," she retorted.

"Because it was SHANE," I shot back. "If it was any of us, it would have been wrestlers or security geeks. But, noooooooo. Only YOU can save your precious 'Mister McMahon'." She wanted to say something, but I raised one hand and gave her a trademarked and patented, "Shut. UP."

And OH, how she glared me down. She wanted to bore holes in me with her eyes, she did. But she didn't tell me to get out. Which was good in my book.

"He's a good guy. " I continued, as nonchalantly as I could. I saw the shape Triple H was in, and I certainly didn't want ANY of that. "What's so bad about admitting you have a little bit of a crush on Shane?"

"Because I don't have a little bit of a crush on Shane." Ding, ding ding.

"OK, you have a big, fat, ENORMOUS crush on Shane."

"I do NOT!" DING, DING, DING, DING DING!!! Give the Ayatollah a cupie doll. EVERYTHING in her body language SCREAMED she was lying lying LYING.

So I bored on: "Then why do you blush every single time you say his name? 'Shane', that is, and not 'Mister McMahon'? Trust me, sweetheart, of all the guys to fall for, Shane McMahon isn't the worst one in the world," I said. "Look, loosen up with the kid a little, will ya? Would it kill you to call him 'Shane' once in awhile?"

Josie shook her head. "I can't, Chris. I...can't."

I looked down at her, the poor thing. Ever look at someone and you can see a conflict about someone or something they don't want to talk about in their eyes? Calculating how much they want to let loose between the urge to run screaming out of the room? Yeah I'd never seen it myself until right then and it sucked. Against my better judgment, took her hand. "Whatever it is, kid, it's not that bad. Really."

"I--it's just." She looked at her feet for a while. That something she was fighting in her head was something she'd been fighting with for a long, long time. Then she looked at me. And those big hazel eyes were filled with...tears. God honest, for real tears. I thought the woman had her tear ducts taken out. Then she made this funny hiccup-y sort of sound.

 

And promptly started sobbing.

 

OK.I admit. I'm like every other guy the world with a weepy female on his hands. 'Please stop crying, please stop crying.' But she cries kind of cute. She buries her head in her hands and her shoulders shake and and she makes these little tiny hiccups and everything.

"Hey, it's OK, kiddo. Shhh, it's OK," I kept saying over and over, until I hoped she calmed down. Instead, she nestled herself right under my chin and cried herself a river...right into my brand new shirt. I didn't even have the heart to be mad at her.

After about three minutes, she managed to pull herself together. "If you ever tell another single soul you saw me cry," she threatened as she tried to wipe her face with her sleeve.

I could help but laugh as I gave her some tissues. "Secret's safe with me, Miss D," I said. "Look, I'm gonna go find that doctor and tell him what for. We'll talk later, OK?"

She nodded her head.

After I tracked the doc down, and got her face stitched up (22 if you must know, baby fine cause of her face), and she got her ribs x-rayed (bruised not broken), I drove her to the hotel. God knows, she didn't want me to. I had seen her with some of the defenses down. I was a danger to her.

I could have been a real bastard right about then.

 

Surprise.

 

I stayed for a bit. I didn't want her to be alone, OK? I was worried about her, all right. YES, I have a heart, and if you let it get out, I'll kick your ass. I've got a rep to keep up.

 

I gave her the spare key to my room, and told her if she needed something or if word about Shane came down, she was to come get me right away.

About an hour later, I heard a knock---no, pounding-on my door. I staggered out of bed, thanking God that I was so drained that I had actually not been engaging in my normal after work--never mind. TMI and all that.

I threw the door open, figuring that it was some of the guys looking for another to go partying or just drink some beers and talk about what had happened. So I was looking at the wrong level. YES. I looked at eye level. Then I looked down.

And there she was in a WWF jersey. That said of all things.'Shut the hell up'.

I gave her a smile and asked how I could help.

She needed to talk. Just talk. Like a normal person. But if I was too tired--

Nonsense, I said. Come on in.

 

That was the first time we slept together.

 

BACK it up, perv. I said SLEPT. I have never EVER seen that woman in less than a t-shirt. I said 'slept' and that's what I meant. SLEPT.

 

We talked for a long time.about a lot of things. Me, about why I loved wrestling and my family. Her...about her regrets. She's got a lot of them. Things she'd done that made her feel like she didn't deserve to be around 'decent people' as she said. Why she pushed everyone around her away. I get the feeling she had always expected to be perfect. She was supposed to be the golden girl. When she proved she was human, she was supposed to be punished, so--she was punishing herself.

I felt bad. She was so young in a lot of ways, with so much going for her. Way too young to be that damned sad. I told that, and she started crying again. So I picked her up and dropped her on my lap and let her cry her eyes out again on my shoulder.

 

OF COURSE, you know what's coming next. Fuck you very muchly too, asshole.

 

When I woke up in the morning, with her honey blonde hair all over the place on my chest and a shiner that would have done me proud, I got mad. What kind of idiot was Shane ANYWAYS? If it was me...

If it was me.

What if it was me?

Did I want it to be me?

Was I out of my MIND?

 

We never told anyone about that night. I've still never told anyone else about that night. BUT...I did decide that I wanted to spend more time with Josie. (I refuse to call her Jo. She doesn't really like it and I like Josie better. She doesn't like when I sing her the 'Josie and the Pussycats' theme song though. Which sucks. I sound good singing it!)


	3. Chapter 3

When we got back to WCW Central after SummerSlam, I stopped by the office.

"Hey, Miss D," I said, planting myself on her desk. I was in full Y2J regalia for a photo shoot I was doing for marketing.

"Chris," she said. Still looked beat up but I got 'Chris' and not 'Mister Irvine'. That was a step in the right direction, yes?

"Hungry?" I asked.

She smiled. "Starving."

That began our lunch dates. When I wasn't on the road, three times a week and once on the weekends, we had lunch. Even after Shane was back in the office part time, we would have lunch. Sometimes with the Hardys and Amy, sometimes just Amy, most times just us. Then we started movie nights. Funny thing how I always managed to pick up the chick flicks...that she liked. And wouldn't admit. To anyone.

 

YES, I'm a softy, get off it already, will ya?

 

Don't ask me when I started thinking of her as 'my best friend' because the only person who had ever occupied that spot before was short, had a missing tooth and was shaped like a fire hydrant, but she was. She called after the matches that she wasn't there for. She became my drinking buddy and my confidante. I told her EVERYTHING, and I happen to know she never tells anything I tell her to anyone else, because I had to fess up to Shane about going over to harass Trips at a WWF house show and she KNEW I was going, and she wasn't the one who ratted me, Matt, Jeff and Hugh out to the Boy Wonder. She didn't even blink when Shane-O asked her if she knew anything about it.

But, for all that she brought to MY life...and I mean that. When you have someone open up to you that way she has...

 

Let's just say I'm one of the only people on the planet who knows WHY she punishes herself the way she does and doesn't want to open herself up to even the idea of a relationship with Shane...and leave it at that.

 

....when someone is that open with you, all you want is to give them the one thing in the world that they want.

 

She wanted Shane, even if she wouldn't admit it. She wanted him bad.

 

And since my primary job as the best BFFL in history is to make her happy, my mission in life was to get him for her...

 

NOW...enter the swerve.

 

We're sitting around Thursday night at my place, watching 'Hope Floats' (YES, I picked the fucking movie, will you PLEASE let it go!?), and she's worn out. While Shane is recuperating, SHE'S running the company with Shane's direction. She's whipped. She tries to stay awake, but burning the candle at six ends finally caught up and I don't have the heart to wake her. She falls asleep while Trisha Yearwood is singing "To Make you Feel My Love'. She has NOT been sleeping well, I don't even need to be around to know that, I can see it in her face and so I let her sleep and if she sleep hard enough I'll carry her up to the spare room later.

So Trisha is singing and the words hit me like a 3-D through a table:

 

_When the rain is blowing in your face_   
_And the whole world's on you case_   
_I could offer you a warm embrace_   
_To make you feel my love_

 

No way am I feeling this, I think to myself. It's just the movie...it gets me choked up...the song gets me choked up. AIR gets me choked up.

 

_When the evening shadows and the stars appear_   
_And there is no one to dry your tears_   
_I could hold you for a million years_   
_To make you feel my love_

 

I let my fingers wander though Josie's hair because she's fussing in her sleep and I need her to get some rest. Shane was pushing her too hard, I thought bitterly. I really needed to tell him to give her a couple of days off. We could play minigolf and have a picnic in the yard. She loves minigolf. I traced the slowly fading scar along her cheek, my blood boiling with fury as I though about Hunter putting his hands on her. Soon...very soon, I was going to take the price of that scar out of Hunter's hide.

 

_I know you haven't made your mind up yet_   
_But I would never do you wrong_   
_And I've know it from the moment that we met_   
_no doubt in my mind where you belong_

 

God, what I wouldn't do to have a girl like this love me the way she loves Shane. Lucky bastard. I dropped a kiss on her head, and she snuggled closer, shivering. I pulled her a little closer. Yeah, I could have got a blanket, but I didn't want to wake her. She feels so good in my arms. I like having her there, protecting her from the things she fears. I like having a Josie to protect, to hold.

 

_I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue_   
_I'd go crawling down the avenue_   
_There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do_   
_To make you feel my love_

 

Black and blue...yeah. I'd done that. I'd do it again, too. I can't wait to go at it with her at my side again...the two most ass-kicking-est hellcats in the world, beating the crap out of all takers. ESPECIALLY Hunter Hearst Helmsley.

Yeah. I put that thought in a promo two weeks later. Thank her for that.

 

_The storms are raging on the rolling seas_   
_On the highway of regret_   
_The winds of change of wind are blowing wild and free_   
_And you ain't seen nothing like me yet_

 

A couple of days earlier, she had stopped by my house, curled up on my couch and said, "You're my best friend, Chris. How on earth did I manage without you?" I just grinned like an idiot. I was so FUCKING happy. I could have puked, I was so giddy.

 

_I could make you happy_   
_Make your dreams come true_   
_Nothing that I wouldn't do_   
_Go to end of the earth for you_   
_To make you feel my love_

 

I buried my head in her hair...her hair that smells like almonds and vanilla and I almost cried like the big baby I am.

GOD...I was so in love with this woman!

 

Wait.

 

**_WAIT._ **

 

When the hell did THIS happen???

 

She mumbles something, and snuggles closer...and rests one hand on my chest and God help me, I want to take her into my bedroom and make mad, intense love to her. I ACHE to hear her scream my name in joy as I take her over the edge again and again and...

 

And I stop.

 

Because I know damned well she's in love with another man. A man who can give her everything she needs and wants in life. A safe home with comfortable things. Beautiful things, things that she deserves. What the hell can I give her? Hmmmm...45 to 48 weeks a year on the road? Hotel to hotel to hotel, night after night after night? Fighting off mat rats? OH yeah, Chris...real nice life there.

I pull it together. I gotta. What choice do I have? She belongs with Shane. Shane loves her...would cherish her in a way I don't know if I'm capable of. I kiss her sleepy head again and move her onto the couch, so I can turn the VCR off.

"Chris--"

"Go back to sleep, babe." I tell her.

She nods and is out again.

 

I hate myself. I absolutely hate myself...almost as much as I love her.

How can I be so fucking selfish?

She doesn't love me. I know that. Her world is Shane McMahon, that lucky bastard. So my mission becomes making sure that she ends up happy. With Shane. Cause that's what best friends do. FRIENDS. Operative word in that sentence. Friends.


	4. Chapter 4

That brings us to last night. At the Limelight. A big ol' party, the sole purpose of which is to get Shane and Josie together.

Did it ever work.

So I thought.

They danced, they kissed, they took off.

 

I'm happy, right?

 

What the hell do you THINK?

 

The one place I want to be right now is in Shane McMahon's shoes, 'cause he's kissing MY girl. Stroking my girl's hair, maybe, if he's lucky, copping a feel. THAT thought sends me to the bar. I need to get hammered. Fast.

 

There's a weird vibe off them when they get back. Not lovey-dovey exactly. Something happened...but it's not what we were expecting.

Then they drop the bombshell: they're not together. Not YET. A 'lease-with-option-to-buy plan' he calls it.

 

Would you think me too much of a heel if I told you I was kind of glad about that?

 

I steal Josie for a dance or three. She's mad at me, but a good mad. She fits...she fits perfectly in my arms, like she's meant to be there, then oh God that Billy Joel song she loves so much comes on, but I know she's watching Shane the whole time we're dancing, and I'm fighting hard to keep it together. Goddamn that Shane. He was born with everything...the ONE thing I find, and he has to take that from me?

 

It was petty, I know. I was pretty cocked. Didn't help any.

 

Told her outright I was scared of losing her. She got pissed at me. That's always a good sign with us. We finished our dance, and she went to gossip with Amy and the girls. And that left me and the Boy Wonder. He's been staring me down since they got back. Watching us dance. Not sure if he really wants to push me into letting her go. Trying to be noble and shit.

 

Then a pit starts forming in my stomach. I've seen that look on Shane O'Mac's face before...he's just seen something...something he does NOT like. Couldn't be me dropping a little kiss on my Josie's pretty little head, could it?

 

Did I mention I'm a spiteful bastard sometimes?

 

After Josie wanders off, I sit next to Shane. Might as well get it over with. He's found me out. The same way I found him out, I suppose. When you're in love, you can TELL. "I already know what you're going to say, Shane-O," I start, "so let's just get the pissing contest over before she gets back here and kicks both our asses."

He gives me this sidelong glance. "Fine. Don't think I don't know."

"Know what, Simba?"

Shane shuddered. "I hate that nickname. Stop trying to make time with girl."

"Jesus Christ, you ARE a fucking walking cliché...and she's NOT your girl. Not yet." I gave him a steely glare that I learned from the best...my own Miss D. "If you hurt her, I'll rip your fucking heart out and feed it to you."

Shane snorted. "THAT was real original. Get in my way and I'll destroy you. Clear?"

"Crystalline." I went to get up. "If you'll excuse me...I'd like to be alone with some thoughts."

Shane nodded. I think he knew where I was coming from. "Chris."

"What?"

Shane looked at me pretty seriously. "You've been good for her...and to her." Shane held out a hand to me. "May the best man win."

I looked at his hand, then at him. "You have GOT to be shittin' me," I said finally.

"Hey, she's the one who has to come up with the reasons why we can't be together," he said. "If one of those reasons is she might be in love with another man, then far be it from me to stack the deck in my favor." Shane smiled at me. "But let's get one thing straight--this is not a game to me, not by a long shot. But I play to win."

I smiled. Well, well, well. Mister Heir Apparent wanted some competition for his fair lady's hand?

 

Hey, I'm a wrestler. I LIVE for competition

 

"Game on," I said and shook Shane's hand. I meant it. He wanted to 'fight' me for Josie, then bring it. I love that girl...I wanted the chance to prove it to her. If Shane was stupid enough to open the door for me...hey, his fault when I broke his nose with it.

"By the way," Shane said quietly. "If YOU hurt her, I'll rip YOUR fucking heart out and replay the footage on the next week's Nitro."

Fair enough. "Bring it on, boss," I said. "Bring it."

 

That was six weeks ago.

The best and worse six weeks of my life.

But that's a whole other story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story are based on the on screen personas of the wrestlers who appear, and is not meant to reflect them in reality. Josie Donnelly is a pure original. The titles in this series come from the song 'Drops of Jupiter; by Train, and any lyrics are used without permission


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